Alphascript Book 1: The Femme With The Predacon Graffiti
by DreamMaster08X
Summary: TFP/IDW/TFA AU: Journalist/Archivist Orion Pax, after being convicted of libel, is brought in to investigate the disappearance of a member of the Seeker Clan occuring nearly 1 vorn ago. With the help of an emotionally unstable but wildly brilliantly intelligent femme, they tap into a vein full of incredibly dark secrets. A TF rewrite of the Millenium Trilogy 1/TGWTDG novel.
1. Prologue: The 83rd Sketch

'_**I Can't Take It Anymore' [play at 'Cue Music' for an added background effect. Purely optional]**_

* * *

**Prologue**

_**Megatronus Residence, circa 30 Kliks from the city of Tesarus, Cybertron**_

It came again…

Every stellar-cycle…on this very meta-cycle. As if it were an obligatory ritual of some sort. And every time, it was the same delivery; same package; same size; even the same exact casing. All this madness had been going on for exactly one vorn now.

The great, silver mech had arrived at his estate after an extensive leave of absence to go and visit his company, Seeker Industries, of which not too long ago he retired from. When the entrance was in view, he caught sight of the package that lay there like every other time it was delivered. With a sigh of dismay, he bent down and picked up the package, punched in the codes to open his front door, and calmly yet solemnly walked through.

Immediately, the first thing that the mech did after closing his door was tear off the wrapping off of the package, throw the wrap on the cold, metal floor, walk down the foyer into the catering area and went over to his handset. Like every other stellar-cycle, he would call upon his closest friend outside of his relatives, Cyclonus, and tell him of each delivery. Even at the moment of his birthcycle from the Well of Allsparks, the two had become inseparable…most of which had to do with the fact that they were created the same exact day. When the two mechs grew up from sparklinghood and into mechlinghood, they both formed a special bond over the course of a few deca-cycles. They both shared an interest in combat and sword-fighting, as well as a passion for watching arena matches (This was eons before chose the profession he had now). They would always train themselves in dueling in their times as young mechlings, and eventually decided to join the gladiatorial ranks. They were both quite content with the outcome of things. Very happy.

But, alas, that time has long been past. And they both had moved on. After their vorns of dueling cycles, Megatronus took up a business with his clan, while Cyclonus took up a career in the security profession. He began work as a lowly cadet and worked his way up to head director. Unlike Megatronus, he had no current plans for retirement, as he loved his occupation most dearly, as if it were a sparkling of its own.

_**[Cue music]**_

The moment the silver mech finished dialing the number of his fellow confidant's household handset, the opposite line instantaneously picked up. Cyclonus always anticipates the mech's call. Even after so long, he was always intuitive and empathetic.

"Megatronus?", the raspy voice in the receiver said.

The mech put the crystal case on the counter next to his handset.

"…It arrived.", he sighed.

"How long has it been already?", Cyclonus asked from the other end.

Megatronus looked at his timetable on the wall. "After today? Exactly one vorn."

He heard a long, deep sigh of despondency from Cyclonus' line. "I take it no note, I suppose."

The silver mech looked at the frame on his counter. "Just the frame. It is the same as the one last time. Molten and welded from pure crystal, and built by bare servos."

"Postmark?"

"Kaon."

"And the calligraphy?"

"Same as always."

The giant, silver mech took a deep sigh of misery.

"I can't take it anymore, Cyclonus.", he told his accomplice.

There was a pause for reflection on the opposite end, followed by a consoling voice filled with great despair.

"…I'm so sorry, Megatronus…"

Megatronus walked out of the catering area into the sitting room and slowly collapsed onto his settee, his free servo rubbing the tip of his brow. Although the two mechs were still on their handsets, not another word was spoken for quite some time. They both knew that nothing that they could say would help to ease the pain anymore.

* * *

Megatronus loved art. He had always been fascinated by the idea of the endless possibilities and forms that it possessed. Whether it would be the carving of a metallic sculpture such as a femme, the construction of a new building in a developing metropolis, or even the sight of a dull, dismal, lackluster graffiti on a putrefying wall, he always found some way, effortlessly or problematical, to discern the pure splendor of the monument that stood before his optics.

However, his absolute favorite form of art was illustration: taking a mental photograph of an image, whether it be in front of you or inside your mind, gripping a stylus in your servo, and sketching the mental image on a canvas in your own very appearance. It truly was a intriguing way to express one's own imagination to others. A lot of mechs don't appreciate the values of art, _especially_ gladiators, and bitterly detest the simple idea of conveying sentiment through art because it doesn't make them look mech-like.

Megatronus was a gladiator for a time, and yet he felt more expressive and even more calm when art was involved in anything. _Pit-slag_, he would say about the 'mech-like' slander. And while his associate wasn't very fond of art like himself, he would have to agree with Megatronus' belief.

The package that would always come to the mech was exactly that: art. Every time, it was a case enclosing a sketch of a various location or landmark. With each one delivery, there was a new drawing of a place from a different site on Cybertron. And with each drawing, the sites spread out further and further apart on the planet. Not too long ago, the landmarks that were in drawn on the canvases were enough spread out all over Cybertron to make the illustrator visiting these locations an official world-traveler. A superbly impressive feat, to say the least.

And yet, instead of joy and excitement…these drawings gave Megatronus sorrow and despair. He always felt the same sort of grief every time he saw the new canvas arrive on his doorstep. Pure, unending grief.

After a joor of speaking over the mobile with his associate and comrade, he hung up and dropped the receiver on the floor. Without any warning, the silver mech began to weep miserably. Such anguish after 83 stellar cycles of ceaseless torture was being built up to this one point. And eventually it would just built straight back up again.

Sooner or later this insanity must come to an end.

_DreamMaster08X presents:_

_**The Femme With The Predacon Graffiti**_

_Book 1 of the 'Alphascript' Trilogy_


	2. I: Event of the Full Cycle

***WARNING* Rated M: for [Cybertronian] profanity, mature sexual content including rape and torture, some violence, and disturbing descriptions. Don't Like Don't Read.**

* * *

_**Translation guide for Cybertronian Time Dates [CTS] (As made by DreamMaster08X)**_

_Nano-Klik = 1 second  
__Klik = 1 minute/60 Nano-Kliks  
__Joor = 1 hour/60 Kliks  
__Solar-Cycle = A full day [approx. 12 joors]  
__Lunar-Cycle = A full night [approx. 12 joors]  
__Meta-Cycle/Cycle = 1 day/24 joors  
__Mega-Cycle = 1 week/7 cycles  
__Deca-Cycle = 3 weeks/21 cycles  
__Stellar-Cycle/Full Cycle = 1 year/Approx. 17 deca-cycles (18 on leap year)  
__Orn = 16 stellar-cycles  
__Vorn = 83 stellar-cycles_

_***Note: this is not an official translation guide, but one to help with all of my stories***_

* * *

**Music Selections (all composed by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross)**

'_**One Particular Moment' **__**[Cue Music #1]**__**  
'Please Take Your Hand Away' **__**[Cue Music #2]  
**_'_**Under The Midnight Sum' **__**[Cue Music #3]  
'People Lie All The Time' [Cue Music #4]  
'How Brittle The Bones' [Cue Music #5]**_

* * *

_Chapter Rating: T for profanity, name-calling, and a brief reference_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_16__th__ Deca-Cycle, 21__st__ Meta-Cycle_

_**[Cue Music #1]**_

It was done. The trial was over (despite it's aft-numbing extensive time length). Everything that could have been said back there had been said. About half a joor after the trial, the adjudicators had immediately reached their verdict: _guilty_. Of course, the mech had no doubt that he was going to lose. Once the hearing was dismissed, he took what was left of his pride and stepped out of the courtroom.

Orion Pax was a documentation journalist working for an association in the bustling metropolis of Iacon known as Alphascript, a corporation that specializes in routine information assessments and daily news reports inside the Delta region's capital. For nearly 32 stellar cycles, he ran the news column portion of the company, recorded countless accounts of the city's many activities, both momentous and irrelevant alike, and published thousands of data files that transfer all the way back to the city's most prestigious landmark, the Hall of Records. He gained quite a notable reputation for his connections to the Hall, and has sometimes been called upon by numerous acquaintances into meetings just to be requested hordes of stories to try to be saved into one of the most high-status and prolific archive galleries on the planet. However, nearly 91% of the sagas he's been told were so asinine, the only place that would be accepting of them was the wastefill.

He was very content with his current position. Though now, his noteworthy repute has been shot down to the Pit. He was a criminal now. It sounded wrong. He hadn't stolen a sacred artifact from a famous exhibition hall. He hadn't vandalized the estate of the Prime. Hell, he hadn't even murdered any living being!

The journalist Pax traversed down the steps to the main lobby and walked down the extensive corridor of the courthouse and caught sight of what lay outside the front entrance: interviewers, reporters, and crew with numerous mics and cameras jam-packed against each other, eagerly waiting to get a piece of juicy material from the mech of the joor. Or rather much, the _stellar cycle_. He recognized the various logos of all different news teams that range from Iacon all the way back to teams from the bustling capital of Kaon

"Hmm…", Orion said, observing the countless newspersons stuck on the other side of the entrance, hungry for opinion. "…Let's see. Iacon Newsflash; Cybertron Databank; Delta Broadcast; Vos Report;….and they brought the big guns: Kaon International Bulletin." He sighed, then spoke in full-blown cynicism. "…Yep, it's official: I'm a celebrity now."

When one of the reporters caught sight of Orion walking towards them, he shouted to the rest of the crew and pointed a digit straight at the mech. Instantaneously, the crowd literally shoved each other in an attempt to be in the front as the first ones to capture their stories. Orion Pax could've sworn he saw some energon-blood stain the glass windows from the sudden outburst of violence. When the crew finally broke through the doors, dozens of inquisitive voices boomed throughout the hall. Ironically, all the voices sounded rather pleasant and friendly, in great contrast to their vicious behavior.

"Mister Pax!", shouted a mech reporter from Kaon in the front end of the crowd. "Cybertron Databank. What can you tell us about your failed allegation?"

A second reporter, Another reporter, a femme for _Vos_, interjected in. "15 counts of aggravated libel; 150,000 credits in fees; 4 deca-cycles in detention. How do think the perpetrator would respond to this?"

"Can you give us a feedback, Orion?" _Iacon Newsflash_

Orion looked around at all the correspondents, obviously waiting for comments from the mech, and gave a contemptuous, halfhearted smile. "Oh come now, surely you must think of another thing or two," he spoke. His tone wasn't unpleasant. Clearly, he knew every mech and femme in this crowd, and was familiar with their disposition. Some he even worked with in previous vocations, especially with _Iacon_. So he knew how to push their buttons to the full extent without breaking it. Still, he continued his statement in a more serious manner.

"I guess that I have only one regret: that the court hadn't come to a different conclusion." So much veiled sarcasm in one single remark.

"But still…4 deca-cycles under imprisonment. That must be hard to deal with." _Delta Broadcast_.

"I'll live," he replied, and then turned to the reporter from _Vos_. "And as for Zeta, I can imagine that he is currently on his way to a secluded domain, sipping away on a goblet of Engex. And frankly I could care less about that."

As he began to walk towards the doors, the femme from _Vos_ inquired. "Will you apologize to Zeta?"

"I doubt it."

"So you still believe that he's a criminal?"

Orion fully turned himself to the femme and spoke bluntly. "I was given factual information about the magnate and believed that I had a right to publish the evidence and commit him myself. The court read the material and said otherwise, and so I just paid the hefty price for it. I simply misjudged the situation." With that said, the mech calmly walked his way to the outside, ignoring the now query-heavy reporters that roared slews of enquiries. He heard the mech from _Databank_'s question above all else's. "But Mister Pax, don't you think that you should've had more assertions to back up your accusation?"

The journalist immediately dismissed the relatively disdainful query by adding, "No comment", and pushed open the doors, with the crowd watching from afar. He needed to get some peace and quiet.

Orion Pax decided that walking was out of the question, since it was quite blustery, and the clouds above suggest that it was going to rain. Not to mention that he was no longer in the mood for interviews for any more reporters. Thankfully, there was a bus stop on the other side of the street. He scurried his way down the courthouse, carefully looked both directions of the road, and made his way over to the station. There was nobody at the stop, so hopefully there will be no onlookers to glare scornfully at him. He made his way over to the bench at sat down and waited. About one klik later, the bus slowly made its way around the corner. He recognized the large, chassis and black/white paintjob of Juggernaut, a fellow transporter that Orion had become acquainted with over the past orn. When he pulled up and opened his door, the mech rose up from his seat and entered the vehicle.

"Where to, Orion Pax?" asked Juggernaut, to which he replied: "_The Oil House_." Though it wasn't a more specific answer, the vehicle knew which place he was talking about.

As the bus closed his door and began accelerating, Pax looked down the aisle and saw a few other passengers, a couple of which were giving the mech ill-mannered and uncomfortable stares. "Heard about your case over the radio", the bus said. "Tough break."

Orion gave a chortle as he took a seat near the front end. "It could've been worse."

* * *

The big sign above the tavern read '**Macadam's Oil House**', a place that Pax had visited quite often. Not so much that he was considered a regular, but enough to where the bartender and employees would recognize the mech every time he walked in. The commerce was founded by, with witless irony, a mech named Macadam, a carefree lifeform with a talent for mixing brews and mingling with any being he runs into. He ran charge of the place for nearly 2 orns, along with a fellow classmate from the Academy, Swerve, who was known at the institution for his contradicting personality of nonchalance and enthusiasm, and his renowned ability to render himself a nuisance to anyone he speaks with, to which granted him the infamous nickname "Shut The Hell Up".

After over 30 stellar-cycles of nonstop work, the proprietor actually grew weary from the rather short period of seemingly pointless labor. So he left his bar in pursuit of a new hobby: dueling. He always watched it live on the flatscreens at his tavern and decided to train hard. He used his lifesavings from his tips to pay for personal training and left Swerve and another full-time employee, Blurr, in charge. After a full cycle of preparation, he took a shot in the coliseum under the alias _'Roadkill'_, a nickname he gained after running over a scraplet while driving home one cycle. He started out with thirteen fights; all of which he lost pathetically. Though afterwards, he managed to win a few by luck to even the odds. Unfortunately, 7 deca-cycles later, he went in a match that cost him his legs. 'Roadkill', after half a stellar-cycle, when he replaced his legs with new attachments, then decided to quit the arena and move back to the bar. His colleagues welcomed him back with open yet hypercritical servos. From then on, his official title was Roadkill. About an orn or two later, Orion himself began recurrently visiting the tavern.

_**[Cue Music #2]**_

The red and blue mech stood there and looked through the glass, the place looking empty save for the staff. With any luck, they might not know about the case. A faint 0.001% chance of luck. Soon enough, as he entered the roadhouse, his guesstimate was answered. "Hey, look what the blind turbofox dragged in!" Orion heard the voice of the garrulous mech Swerve at the bar.

Orion snorted amusingly at the feeble jest and retorted back, "If I am prey, then at least I am capable prey." He somewhat enjoyed the minibot's always cheery commentaries. Most Cybertronians don't, but Pax didn't mind it. He went over and sat at a stool in front of the bartender and looked over to see Blurr, the sapphire-colored mech, scrubbing one of the recently used tabletops. He looked over and gave a heartwarming smile and nod. Blurr had been known for being one of the fastest motorists alive, often breaking lap records on various racing routes, ranging from calm to dangerous. During one race, he met Swerve, and they began hitting it off very quickly.

However, Blurr discovered underground racing, which was strictly illegal in nearly every city, and partook in it himself. Eventually, one of the races was busted by security and all competitors were forced to disperse to avoid the fuzz. Since Blurr was the fastest of the bunch, he flew to far to notice the cops, and once he made an entire lap around the course, the finish line was covered in a giant police blockade. Before the racer could jettison out of there, security blasted an electric net on the lawbreaker, rendering him immobile, and brought him into confinement.

A few cycles later, Swerve visited him and convinced the police to release him on parole, while he took care of Blurr's fines. They reluctantly did so (just to shut the minibot up) and kept the felon under watch. Swerve offered him a job working for the bar, and he accepted it, since he was going to need a job anyways. A few full-cycles later, Blurr was no longer kept under criminal charges, and thus was free from his half-liberation.

Roadkill obviously overheard Swerve's quip, because he made his way out of the galley and into the bar room. "Pax!" he shouted zealously while throwing up his arms in the same manner. "It's great to see you again. Gosh, how long has it been already? 3…4 mega-cycles?"

"5, actually", Orion corrected. "I had recently been very busy with legal affairs, which I'm sure you're not familiar with, given your current positivity."

The barkeeper took down a glass from the shelves and began polishing it with a fresh rag. "No, actually, I_ have_ been watching and listening in on the trial since the beginning. I was rooting for you the whole time. I don't trust that Zeta _prude_ anymore than you.

The red/blue mech laughed quite loudly at the insolent slur that Roadkill made. "That's not really necessary, Roadie. You don't need to help make me feel better."

"Oh, but it's true, Orion!" he exclaimed. "It seemed like Zeta always had something malicious up his armplates, and it was only a matter a time before someone had the _spark_ to try and convict the pompous afthead where he stood!"

Orion Pax smiled, admiring Roadkill's detestation towards the tycoon. "Yet, he still won the case. Why are you still so upbeat?"

"I always try to be optimistic, no matter the negativity. It makes for better tips."

"That it does, Roadie", the archivist said as he pull out a few credits and tossed it in the tip jar next to him.

"Now I assume a shot of low-grade this afternoon?" Swerve asked as Roadkill set down the spotless glass in front of Pax.

"Actually, I'll go mid-grade today", Orion answered. "...And maybe after, a little shot of high-grade."

"Right away!" Swerve answered elatedly and brought up a few tall flasks of various assortments of graded energon. The journalist looked up at the flatscreen in the upper right corner of the bar, which was on Channel 4 displaying the 1400 hour news, and began watching. Apparently, the station was showing a rather awkward mugshot of Orion Pax himself, which meant, as the mech predicted, they were speaking about the ever-so embarrassing aftermath of the Zeta lawsuit. Unfortunately (_and_ fortunately), the volume was toned down to where Orion couldn't hear what the newscasters were saying. Right on cue, Blurr walked over with a remote control to the TV and handed it to him. "I believe you might need this."

"Thank you", Pax replied, and turned up the volume. The room's ambience was suddenly met with the sound of a femme news anchor giving the scoop.

"_**-as a result, Journalist & Archivist Orion Pax was sentenced to 4 deca-cycles in the Iacon State Penitentiary, along with a hefty 150,000 credits in fines, due to the journalist's failed accusation on industrialist & renowned billionaire Zeta. This morning, the court gave a written verdict, unanimously voting Orion Pax guilty on account of 15 counts of aggravated libel. The entire ordeal involving the two mechs began 1 deca-cycle ago, when the 15**__**th**__** deca-issue of the Alphascript's monthly publication posted an article, written by Journalist Pax, claiming that Industrialist Zeta had been allegedly using company investments to illicitly purchase armaments and fissionable substances. Zeta however, disregarded the supposed allegation, and had single-handedly defeated Orion Pax in a battle of law and order."**_

Orion scoffed at the last statement as Swerve handed him his drink, to which the archivist replied thankfully, and began taking small swigs. He wanted to take it easy. Although the next statement would cause him to do otherwise.

"_**-We now go to Tracks who is live at the outside of the Hall of Records in Kaon, who is currently interviewing the hearing's successful defendant Zeta." **_

The camera shot switched from the newsroom to the outside of Records, where the entire screen was lit up with the dark gray and deep blue appearance of the industrialist himself. He looked quite haughtier than he usually was. Given the fact that he personally stomped on the reputation of a being he considered inferior to him, Orion could see why.

"_**Mister Zeta"**_, the reporter known as Tracks began speaking, microphone at servo. _**"I must ask you: what was your initial response when Orion Pax first published the now-confirmed libel sources, accusing you of financial fraud and weapon arsenal procurements? Surely you must have been surprised when the young journalist made such an accusation!"**_

"_**I can't say that I was surprised. More or less, I was concerned for him. To make an allegation like Orion did does take a great deal of courage on his part, and I applaud the journalist's efforts to bring a serious subject like this into account. It was just the matter of backing up his claim with solid evidence that drew his article to its unfortunate downfall."**_ His deep, baritone voice didn't falter one bit. Orion couldn't believe this pit-slag.

"_Unfortunate downfall…" _Orion muttered to himself. "_Pompous __**AFTHEAD**_." He quietly spoke the curse with great derision. He took a couple more sips of his mid-grade and rubbed his brow with his free servo. When finished, he motioned to 'Shut The Hell Up', pointing at his empty shot glass, and the bartender took it and poured a second round."Thank you, he replied, and took the glass. The mech briefly looked outside, seeing that it was now raining. _Thank Primus for this place_, missed the reporter's second inquiry during this time, which dealt with the industrialist's past experience at the Iacon Academy of Higher Learning, but caught the next two queries after.

"_**So you're still contradicting the journalist's statement in the latest issue of Alphascript?**_

"_**However bold and daring enough the mech was to do so, I still stand by my word."**_ _How surprising_, Orion thought, drinking his next shot a bit faster than the first one.

"_**-Do you have any thoughts on Orion Pax's criminal charges, due to your legal confutation?" **__the interviewer Tracks asked._ Oh Primus, who knows what Zeta might say about him.

"_**Orion is a good mech, and I can honestly vouch for that when I met and befriended him at the Academy. He is a very bright However, if I had to speak for his faults, perhaps he should've been a bit more attentive and perceptive with his material. At least in this situation."**_

"_**Well, thank you for your time, Mister Zeta!"**_ _Tracks said appreciatively._

"_**No, no. Thank you, sir. It was my pleasure"**_, _the mech replied with a nod. _

At the last paragraph Zeta mentioned, Orion Pax furiously chugged the mid-grade and slammed the glass on the counter. "Roadkill…I think I'll take that high-grade now. But just one." He didn't want to show up on his first day back at Alphascript overcharged.

…

Pax spent nearly a joor at the bar chatting away with Roadkill, Swerve, and Blurr. For a few kliks, they talked about the current gladiatorial duels in Kaon. The quad agreed that the fights weren't as glorious and gut-wrenching as they were back in the era. Roadie reminisced his cycles as a dueler, and even quoted, word-by-word, his final fight. The other two employees even mouthed their boss's words mockingly behind his back. Obviously, they've heard _'Tale of The Roadkill'_, as the mech would refer to as, one too many times. However, Orion, never hearing the story before during all of his time here, was immediately sucked in.

Straight after that short topic, they all discussed the only other matter: Zeta. All of their opinions on the mech were summed up in countless insults, invectives, and verbal abuse. Blurr criticized the contrast of the industrialist's outgoing communal attitudes and his always-conceited, self-important façade of a personality. Roadkill commented on the mech's remarkably distended facemask, possibly from his built-up barrier of superfluous lies. Swerve, given his unendorsed identity at the Academy, came up with several names for Zeta as a reference between the four: Manure-facturer; Indungrialist; ThunderSlag; Fragnum Opus; and Orion's personal favorite: Pomp and Circumscrap. All of them preferred the last name, laughing with great zest and took shots of mid-grade. The entire group contributed to the Unofficial Zeta Hate-Club.

"I must ask, Orion", Blurr began "What convinced you to write that article about Pomp and Circumscrap?"

Orion, whose glass was now filled with low-grade to counteract the high-grade in his internal systems, took a sip from it and spoke. "2 deca-cycles ago, I was called into Kaon for an assembly at the Hall of Records. During that time, I wanted to arrange a meeting with my long-time friend, who currently works as head of a medical department there, so we could catch up on recent events. I called him up and we both agreed to meet during his lunch break at a high-end bistro not far from where he was working. His name is Ratchet."

_***FLASHBACK* [Cue Music #3]**_

_Orion Pax checked his internal clock: __**1332 hours**__. _

_His friend told him that he always got off work at 1330 hours._

'_**Patience, Orion'**__, he murmured to himself. He knew that it would still take the medic time before he would actually arrive. Given where he works, it would take him about 3 more kliks due to traffic. Approximately 2 kliks ago, Orion reached their predetermined rendezvous at the Heatwave Bodega, took their reservations, a nice table by the front window, and sat down._

_The mech looked through the glass and watched the beings walking past the restaurant, on with their workaday lifecycles. Suddenly, a flash of white and orange shined under the solar light of day. Orion recognized the color scheme of his old friend. He tapped loudly yet lightly on the glass window to get his attention. The medic instantly stopped and looked back. When he caught sight of Orion, he gave a kindly gesture and quickly moved on over to the entrance. The two mechs met at the table a shook each other's servos in delight, laughing like they always did._

_The medic was the first to speak. "Primus, Orion! So good to see you again! It's been what, 16 deca-cycles since our last happenstance?"_

"_Yes, Ratchet", Orion replied. "I believe we met at Jazz's last New Cycle celebration back at Iacon."_

"_Right…" Ratchet said. "I remember that night a little too clearly than everyone else. I recall Sunstreaker getting a bit tipsy with the high-grade and making a move on Jazz. He even slapped my aft in a teasing manner."_

"_Oh come now, you what he was like the moment you met him."_

"_I know", the medic sighed as he set his servos on the tabletop. "I don't know how Sideswipe puts up with his sparktwin's behavior. No, wait…I don't know how _Bluestreak_ lets young Sunny get way with gestures like that!"_

"_They make it work. Sunny is very trusting. He's just more feisty than most mechs are."_

"_And more conceited", Ratchet added._

"_He's not that bad", Orion retorted as the waiter came over their table._

_When they placed in their orders and got their beverages, the two longtime friends spent a short span of time talking about the party. Though the party did have its major downs, like Sideswipe stumbling backwards and crashing into the wet bar, destroying half the graded rations, and his brother's overt drunken persona, they both agreed that this was so far the best of the New Cycle bashes. Maybe in the next gathering, however, they though, they should keep the troublesome siblings out of the way._

_When their food finally arrived, after cycling through several topics, ranging from weather to other friends, they got onto the subject of work, which Orion asked about. Ratchet had told him about a new intern the hospital had hired: a very young recent medical graduate who goes by the name Knockout, who had just come in a few deca-cycles ago. The chief medic quoted that he is 'the only being that is even more conceited that Sunstreaker himself', which, unsurprisingly, the journalist could believe. Though the intern was very skilled at his profession, which Ratchet was superbly impressed by, he was completely self-obsessed with his appearance and looks. However, it was to the point of violence that he would commit on an innocent bystander if his exterior was harmed in any way, shape, or form._

_Ratchet could vouch for that seemingly ludicrous statement. One time, the cycle before Knockout was considered for an advancement, a fellow doctor had confronted the intern, who was awfully concerned about his procedures and whether or not his qualifications were a hoax. Pax couldn't believe the mech's asinine accusation, as well as Ratchet. Anyways, as Knockout was convincing the medic that he was the real deal, the doctor accidently left a scuff on the intern's red chassis, and utterly regretted it. His action was met with a deep growl and an abrasive slap to the helm, claw barely missing the optic. Due to Knockout's sudden outrage, he was demoted back to the start and taken under the wing by Ratchet himself._

"_He is an extremely well-trained medic", Ratchet began as he took a bite of his meal. "When he was under my command, Knockout never made even the simplest errs. He just needs to take better control of his actions in the future." He took a swig of low-grade as Orion watched him._

"_Are you going to promote him anytime soon?" the journalist asked._

_Ratchet stopped drinking and put the glass back on the table. "As a matter of fact, yes. Straight after the New Cycle, I will be temporarily transferring him for a few decas to an infirmary in Iacon for better work advanced training that he'll need to become CMO like me. The place is not too far from Alphascript."_

"_I should drop by and see him myself", Orion suggested._

"_Unless you plan to come in with a broken limb, I highly doubt that it's going to happen. He'll be very occupied with his job and won't be seeing much of the outside."_

"_I see", he replied disappointingly, taking another bite of food._

"_So", Ratchet began. "What's new at Alphascript, Orion Pax?"_

"_Er, nothing much", he answered with food still in his mouth. "To be honest, I'm not sure what I should write about next. Nothing interesting has happened in the past stellar-cycle, and I'm running out of ideas!"_

_The medic thought hard, showing it greatly in his expression. After half a klik, he responded. "How about the gladiatorial showdowns here in Kaon?"_

"_Mmm…no. Not many exciting events have happened since Roadkill's mutilation."_

"_What about the economy? Anything in that aspect?"_

"_That's a rather desperate subject matter, and it's been done to death."_

_Ratchet went back to thinking. Until he finally came up with a solution._

"…_Why don't you write about Zeta?"_

_Orion Pax froze where he was, the piece of silverware with food he was holding stayed in the air. "Write about Zeta? What do you mean?" he asked with a confused tone,_

_Ratchet replied, stretching the first two words. "I mean…you should write about the corporal industrialist and billionaire Zeta."_

"_I….I don't understand, Ratchet."_

_Ratchet took a sip as his old friend queried him, then responded. "You asked if there's anything interesting to write about for your next Alphascript article. My answer: Zeta."_

"_I didn't know there was anything to write about him", Orion said frankly. "How come you used a solution so direct and specific?"_

"_Okay, I'll be honest", the medic began. "I bring up the probability of Zeta because, for the past few stellar-cycles….I have a patient who works for his company."_

"_And this is essential information because…?"_

_Ratchet took another bite. "His name is Sentinel, and for the past 2 full cycles, I've figuratively been like a therapist to him. The first appointment I ever had with him, he was quite reclusive, refusing to speak expect for answering medical questions. He was fairly stubborn mech…like me, but not quite."_

"_Hardly", Orion countered amusingly. He knew the chief medical officer for many vorns, which was long enough to decipher his characteristics and behavior. Ratchet ignored the remark and continued._

"_Anyways, back to Sentinel. Every deca-cycle he came in for his cyclic checkups. He was very introverted at first, but then he began to warm up to me. At the third appointment, he revealed that he worked at Paramount Assembly Corporation, an organization that has commercial ties with the Hall of Records. He got to talking about his occupation, and told me that he helps out with the financial aspects of the company. When he arrived for his fourth checkup, he came in surprisingly outraged. When I asked what was the matter, he told me that the cycle before, the company had been refusing his demands for a raise since they were dumping extra work and time on him. When he asked why, he said that the company told him that they simply couldn't afford the budget to give anyone an increase in salary. __**'Pit-slag'**__, he told them, and stormed out of there._

"_However, in the fifth appointment, he came in brighter than usual, which is a scary trait given his common persona. That checkup, he told me that the cycle after his fourth checkup, a new mech, by the name of Zeta, stepped up as the new CFO of the company. He helped to fund the company using his own reserves, and gave a better wage than Sentinel would ever wish for. Of course the mech was quite enthusiastic about the new boss, and spent the entire appointment praising his 'kindly gesture' to me." Ratchet used his digits to motion the air quotes. "The next few checkups, Sentinel had become more outgoing and confident. He was more chatty, more resilient, and, need I say, more conceited. Maybe even more than Sunstreaker __**and**__ Knockout!"_

_Orion chuckled heartily at the notion. To find one more smug than the yellow mech was such an astonishment. "Continue", he said._

**_[Cue Music #4]_**

"_About the fourteenth checkup, Sentinel told me that not too long ago, he had been promoted by Zeta himself as an executive of PAC's financial division. He was put in charge of accounting and secretarial aspects of the company's investments, second to Zeta. For over the course of half a stellar-cycle, my patient kept telling me of his boss's outstanding guidance and brilliant ideas for the company. I was beginning to think that Zeta was trying to bribe him in someway."_

"_Sounds like someone's been grabbing a hold of Sentinel's spike", Orion joked. Ratchet laughed, though the medic believed that it was a possibility. Pax continued, "Did he say what the plans were?"_

"_He didn't. At least, not directly." He took another bite and sip. "About the twenty-first checkup, he said he was given an even higher extra pay to govern and balance Zeta's fiscal accounts. Then the twenty-sixth, his own personal records. _That _was where I started to become very suspicious of him and Zeta."_

_"Obviously, with Zeta, he was getting much more than raises and servojobs. Or maybe Zeta is just flaunting his money in everybody's faces. That would make him a more vain Cybertronian than Sunstreaker, Knockout, _and _Sentinel combined!"_

_Ratchet laughed very hoarsely, smacking his servo on the table, causing nearly everyone in the restaurant to glance over at them. "That is absolutely true, Orion!" he coughed out. "But I reckon that you might be right about the other statement. Which brings the story to its climax. Right after his thirty-fifth checkup, which actually happened the last mega-cycle ago, Sentinel sped his way out of the exam after it was done, and dropped a case. I took my only opportunity to search in his personal belongings. That's where I found the jackpot: asset funds, identification, credit and debit cards, and the mother of all sources: Sentinel and Zeta's individual security code encryptions."_

_Orion just about gagged on his low-grade, but managed to flush it down his systems. "You're kidding!" He exclaimed._

"_Would I lie?" Ratchet enquired. Surely, he would never _ever_ lie to his closest friends. "I assumed that Sentinel was going to take it to Zeta on the way home."_

"_And I'm guessing you wanted to take a look for yourself."_

_The medic nodded slowly. "I took it to Perceptor for analysis, hoping I wouldn't be run down by police in the process. His work isn't necessarily legal." Orion nodded. He too knew the mech. "Thankfully not. Anyways, after the mech promised not to rat me out, he gladly took the encryptions, temporarily transferred them to his PC server, and succeeded in breaking the codes. I looked at the files, and they seemed to contain recordings of Zeta's transactions of his bank accounts for the past few orns. And according to the records, he's only been a part of the company for a quarter of an orn. He apparently got a position in the company due to his overwhelmingly fat savings. Most of it likely inherited from his sire and carrier."_

"_How much?" Orion asked, taking a sip from his glass._

_Ratchet leaned in very close so only the journalist could here. "…56 billion credits."_

_Orion picked the worst time to drink, because he ended up spitting it all over his platter, along with some spittle on the medic's chassis and helm. All his friend did was smile and used his cloth to wipe off the excess that the archivist left on him, snickering at his abrupt motion._

"_I know, I can't fathom it either. My only guess is that his carrier had a high end job- perhaps a medic like me- and his father was the Prime." He took a bite. "But that's not the crazy part, believe it or not. When I took a look at Sentinel's file, it really enclosed the entire budget of PAC's finances for the same timespan as Zeta's account. When I took a look at both documents and compared them side by side, I noticed some conventional details, as well as some that were relatively bewildering. Of course, the conventional details were that Zeta used a great portion of assets to help fund the corporation, which gave Sentinel his raise and more. Overtime, he began losing his own credits, drastically dropping down to 24 billion, and even to 9 billion. This caused the PAC numbers to go up the same exact time. And after more time, his asset numbers began slowly increasing back up again, with the PAC numbers staying intact._

"_However, one minor factor is the major optic-opener of the situation. It seemed that 3 deca-cycles ago, Zeta's account froze due to technical difficulties for 5 cycles. During that time, a giant mass of credits suddenly disappeared from the PAC account altogether. The day Zeta's account unfroze, the number in the company instantaneously increased back up to its previous status. Perceptor successfully hacked the industrialist's receipts and find out what he purchased during that time….they turned out to be product numbers for highly-advanced weaponry."_

_Orion paused and stared shockingly at Ratchet. Then he finally whispered "You're slagging me, aren't you!?"_

_The medic shook his helm. "The receipts traced back to an unknown source. This could only mean one thing: the source is an underground black market. Apparently, if he couldn't access his account to pay for the weapons…he would've been shot clean of the company."_

_The journalist pointed a skeptical digit at his former classmate. "And you're telling me this is __**not**__ a hoax?"_

"_I'm dead serious, Orion Pax", he answered confidently. "I can't get the asset records to you, unfortunately, because the cycle after, Sentinel call the hospital and asked if the case was lost there. I told him that he lost it in my office, and so he came in to retrieve it. Luckily, Perceptor kindly eviscerated any digitprints that might cause suspicion._

"_How come you didn't make a copy of the records?"_

"_You'd think that would be easy now, would it?" Ratchet said with a short, hearty chuckle. "However, both encryptions had been permanently notarized and prevented any reproductions of the files. Fortunately, though Perceptor was unable to bypass the impossible replication codes, he _was _able to slip by and make valid copies of the receipts._

___**[Cue Music #5]**_

"_And might I make a suggestion? You were coming into town for a conference at the Hall of Records, am I right?" Pax nodded. "And do you still have access until you leave?" Another nod. "Good. Then I propose that you go in with your ID, search for Zeta's financial accounts- the banks ALWAYS sends legal copies of recent records to the Hall- and take a look for yourself. When you're done, stop by my place and I'll give you the copied receipts, and let you stay until you need to go back to Iacon. Once you get back home, if your desperate enough, and provide sufficient evidence, make your claim via newsprint. At this point, if Zeta hadn't been convicted of his almost-foolproof sedition yet, then somebot will have to take the bullet."_

* * *

_Later that evening, Orion Pax traveled down to the Hall and got access to go in. It was near closing time, so it was somewhat vacant. He spent countless kliks searching the building's Net for financial records and finally tracked down both Zeta and PAC's records. They were nearby each other so Orion didn't need to go far to . He gathered all the doucments that Ratchet made mentions of and __compared each one side by side. The medic was correct: both archives showed exactly like how he described them._

_He searched up further, trying to find more material to use as backup; only some of which were adequately sufficient. The ones that he found useful, he jotted down all on blank datapads. The archivist then put every file back where it belonged, walked out of the Hall, and headed to Ratchet's. Before he even reached the medic's home, he already came to a conclusion himself._

"…_**Spawn of a glitch!**__" he thought._

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

**Orion Pax and Ratchet are taken from Transformers Prime [TFP]  
Swerve and Blurr are taken from the IDW comics [Robots in Disguise and More Than Meets The Eye]  
Zeta Prime is also taken from IDW [The 'Autocracy' comics] as well, though the title of Prime is omitted.  
Sentinel Prime is taken from Animated [TFA] with title of Prime omitted.  
Macadam/Roadkill and Juggernaut are OCs, completely of my doing. [Any other OCs with the same exact names are purely of coincidence!]**


	3. II: She's Different

**[EDIT: 7/7/13] (Currently banging my head against the desk in frustration) I made a GIANT err in actually forgetting to put in the name of a femme OC in the fic. _Spawn of a GLITCH! _Anyways, the problem is ****now**** resolved!**** :)**

* * *

**Side**_** Note: Shout out/thank you to 'Darkest Nightmare's Dread' for looking over the drafts of this chapter and the last! :)**_

_**[Cue Music #1] - 'We Could Wait Forever'  
[Cue Music #2] - 'Another Way Of Caring'  
[Cue Music #3] - 'The Same As The Others'  
[Cue Music #4] - 'A Viable Construct'**_

_**Chapter Rating - T: for some profanity and brief mentions of slash.**_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_16th Deca-Cycle, 21st Meta-Cycle_

Looking out the window of the 53rd floor of Praxus Security's Reconnaissance Center and gazing at the bustling and breathtaking view of the heavily-populated city of Iacon would almost always calm the tensions of any Cybertronian being. And that was no exception for Prowl, the head of the surveillance division of the company. He had been working in the company for roughly 23 orns, the longest time that anyone has ever worked without asking for a single hiatus or break.

It was said that for a period of time, Cybertronians were created from a place known as the Well of Allsparks: the heart of the planet's core which was told to have held one of the universe's most powerful beings: Primus. In the beginning, he created thirteen beings, each holding the surname of 'Prime'. They all helped to build the planet, to which was now called Cybertron. Soon after, the spark of Primus himself surged immensely, flourishing the newly-constructed globe with life (Cybertronian lifeforms), undergrowth (lianas & formations), biota (including turbofoxes and scraplets), forage, and fluids (bodies of clear water). The deity provided the planet with essential establishments and creations for his descendants.

Primus, however, foretold that the Well of Allsparks would eventually expire and no longer create new beings. Because of this, he gave birth to one of the most vital aspects of Cybertron history: the amalgamation of two sparks. Through a process known as spark-bonding, two Cybertronians, a mech and a femme, merge their sparks together and devote themselves to one another. Once committed, through the spark of Primus' spirit himself, they were able to conceive and bring forth a being of their own called a sparkling. With nourishment and proper growth, the sparkling would shift to youngling-hood, the mech/femme-hood, finishing to adult form. Sparkmates were able to conceive as many as they could. Truth be told that Cybertronian's were able to bond regardless of gender, with a few variations.

All that, of course, originated eons ago. And Prowl still remembered it to this day.

Prowl, as a matter of fact, was a Praxian himself, much like his creators were. He was of course born of sparkbond conception. However, his parent's union was certainly a unique one. The rare occurrence with his creators was that his sire was born from the Well, while his carrier, much like him, was born by sparkbond. Usually, most sparkmates who bond were either both born from the Well or both born via conception. It's not unusual that it happens, but it is quite uncommon.

For a few vorns, his carrier functioned in the academic field, catering the minds of intellectually-gifted Cybertronians. She currently works as the principal of Praxus University, one of the most prestigious institutions on the planet. His sire, on the other hand, went into law enforcement not long after his creation, and now runs the entire Praxus Security union, presently residing in the command center of operations. Prowl always admired and looked up to his sire, as did his sire to him. During his mechling-hood, he decided that he wanted to follow in his sire's pedesteps, and began working immediately after his graduation at the University. 23 orns of hard work has put him up to here now. And he was proud of it.

Praxus Security had five divisions in its company, each cleverly resembling the letters of it's municipal title and have a base of operations for each individual division, though its services span across nearly the entire globe. The P stood for 'Protection': the most important of the factions. The Protection Department was known for its elite-trained special forces that stay out on patrol routines, spot out any possible petty crimes, and detains them on the spot. The faction's command center was located in the home base of Praxus. The R stood for 'Reconnaissance', a faction that specializes in scrutinizing and gathering information from high top facilities. This is completely vital for background checks for trial cases. Of course, the headquarters was in Iacon. The A and X roughly formed together to create a vernacular term for the 'Auxiliary' division. This was the most beneficial part of the company. Auxiliary was created to cater to the needs of high-status corporations, aiding them with their most high-tech equipment and best qualified security and bodyguards. With a high cost, of course. The base of operations was in none other than Kaon. The U was 'Undercover', the most dangerous of the divisions, only for the bravest of mechs and femmes. The 'U' sector was used for infiltration: units of either one or several agents into a notorious area and unearth every piece of evidence and send it back to base for analysis. The infiltration center was in Tesarus. The final letter, S, was known as 'Surveillance'. Much like Recon, except more vigilant, the 'S' unit is used to spy on any suspects for cases of crime, generally murder, and keep watch on their actions. This is where the most updated versions of security cameras and paraphernalia come in handy. The base is located in Vos.

Prowl very much liked his position in the Recon department. Although sometimes, he pondered what it would've been like to work in Undercover. His sire partially worked in every faction of the company, though he stayed in the 'U' faction the longest. That seemed to have been his strongest suite. However, Prowl's sire told him that his best and sturdiest skill set would be better suited for Recon. Naturally, Prowl was okay with this. His sire even taught his creation the most important fundamentals of the division. Apparently, that training must have set him to the point he was now. And he didn't argue with it.

* * *

The Praxian sat at the end of the stretched discussion room table twiddling his digits, patiently waiting. To his left sat his client of the day: a giant, blue mech with inflections of red known as Ultra Magnus. The mech claimed to Prowl that he was an attorney who had come all the way from Vos on official but strict business. He requested that the division help to put together a full, extensive background report on a mech working here at Iacon. Why he needed it, he wouldn't say. Nonetheless, they would help him out with the report either way. In fact, the compensation was greater than usual.

Prowl swiveled his seat towards the attorney called Magnus and looked at him confidently. The oversized mech looked back and nodded expressively. They were currently waiting for the report to be delivered here by one of the division's employees. The Praxian was sure that she would arrive at any minute. He had good faith in his subordinate.

_**[Cue Music #1]**_

"When will she be here?" Ultra Magnus patiently asked after a few kliks.

The Praxian checked his internal clock and replied, "Should be about right now."

"Has she been late on labor accounts with clients before?"

"She never generally meets with clients. Not like this."

The giant mech straightened up as he perceived Prowl's statement. "She never meets with clients regularly?"

Prowl swerved his chair a little to the right towards the window. "I try not to let her encounter with customers. I'm anxious that she'll give anyone the wrong impression and then they'll recant their offer." He raised a digit on his left servo. "However, I did tell her that this was an important meeting and that she could not miss it."

"I appreciate that gesture." Magnus responded with a nod. "But you're actually afraid she'll scare away any clients?"

"Yes, including right now." Prowl swiveled back to the attorney. "I fear that you may not like her much."

"Why not?"

The Praxian stared at the direction of the glass and pondered his thoughts momentarily. After a few nano-kliks, he spoke. "I will honestly say this: she is my most trusted and smartest employee I've ever had the privilege of working with. Whenever I tell her to get something done, she'll not only complete the given work, but even more. That goes without saying when it comes to data retrieval on a single figure. She'll carve out every little possible feature, aspect, and detail of someone she can. And I mean _every_ detail."

"So why are you worried about this particular session?"

Another pause. "I must warn you: she's a little…._different_."

"Different…" the attorney pondered. "In what way?"

"…In every way."

Ultra Magnus sat there looking silent and put his servos together on the table. "Can you be a bit more specific with your assertion?"

"Not really. I don't know much about her, since she always keeps to herself around the office. She seems very introvert. And her appearance and presence might feel…threatening to you. That is why I try not to put her with to much direct social work: others might get the wrong idea."

"But you assure that she's the finest of the division?" Magnus inquired. "And that is why you keep her?"

Prowl nodded subtly. "I greatly ask that you judge her work and not her sociability."

As if on cue, a figure- a rather small femme- walked by the glass of the indoor section of the building, slowly making her way down the corridor, carrying a knapsack over her right shoulder. Prowl looked at the femme, as did Magnus, just as the figure turned her head towards them. The Praxian gesture to the femme to come in. She looked very hesitant, but then slowly stepped to the door and opened it.

Ultra Magnus could now see what Prowl meant by appearances.

The femme was small with a deep purple shade for he main outer shell scheme and silver for her face, highlights, servos, and undersides. Her face looked very worn, not physically, but emotionally, as if she were entirely drained of expressions. Her optics were a bright shade of light blue, like him and the Praxian, but with a sort of dim gloominess in them that seemed very unnerving, a trait that Prowl said not to judge her by. The one distinction that Magnus noticed were the femme's markings all over her body, as if they were tattooed on. She had a sort of plant on her right thigh, a black ring that looped entirely around her right forearm, and, as Magnus noticed when she walked it, a very peculiar mark: a pitch-black tattoo of an ancient Predacon right on her left shoulder blade, with dark gray outlining its whole body and shape.

When the femme looked straight at Magnus, still standing as the two mechs rose to their pedes, she gave a vacant glare, indicating that she was not particularly pleased to be here at the moment.

"Ah, there you are." Prowl was the first one to speak. "May I present your client, Mister Ultra Magnus." He motioned with one servo to the attorney, who nodded at the femme. She did nothing but stare back.

"Mister Magnus", Prowl continued. "….This is Arcee."

The attorney gave the femme a welcoming nod. She, of course, did not budge. However, her slightly varying blue optics indicated a greeting as well. It was lukewarm, but it was nonetheless a greeting. Prowl then interrupted, gesticulating the two to sit down. Arcee swiftly threw her knapsack onto the tabletop and flaccidly sunk into the seat at the opposite end of Prowl. The two mechs sat down as well.

"I take it you brought the report, Arcee?" Prowl asked, pointing to her pack on the table.

He didn't take notice that she had been holding a dossier in her servo the entire time. It was still there. She held it up, put it on the surface, and smoothly slid it across to her client. On cue, Magnus put his servo out and caught the dossier. The top read _**'CONFIDENTIA**__**L: O.P.**__**'**_. It was very delicate, as it was a quite thick binder containing about endless tons of statistics, likely spanning over hundreds of vorns. He opened up the first page, which was printed in giant, bold letters:

_**NAME: ORION PAX**_.

Ultra Magnus read the first few statements of the report, which disclosed the basics of the client (creation day; residential abode; current occupation), and gradually turned each page with great attention and scrutiny. Both Prowl and Arcee carefully watched the mech cycle through the report. The Praxian looked at the femme as she did the same. His look gave a great deal of encouragement, and the femme banally gave an accepting look. After a few pages, their client closed the binder and turned his full attention to the purple femme.

"Your report is quite extensive, I must say," he spoke calmly. "I take it you had no trouble finding these sources?"

Arcee turned her head to Magnus and finally spoke the first time of the session.

"It was not complicated to decipher. It was child's play compared to my last assignment. Of course, most of the material wasn't kept in the dark. There's roughly about 248 pages of the report. 41 pages are essays and journals he wrote while attending the Academy; 172 pages are all the articles that the archivist inscribed during his times at both the _Delta Broadcast _and the _Alphascript_ enterprises; the rest is composed of his more personal substances and information, which you have just stopped reading right now."

Every word she said each felt like an icicle to the spark. Ultra Magnus understood more of the chief's skeptical comments. Magnus, nevertheless, dismissed the assessment and continued, reverting back to the files.

"You could check to see if my estimations were correct. I assure you: I'm not wrong."

"I believe you," the attorney responded, picking up where he left off in the report. "What can you tell me about the journalist that is disclosed?"

Arcee paused to gather her thoughts. "He was born in the Well of Allsparks approximately 200 vorns ago, as most Cybertronians were. In his early cycles, he attended the Iacon Academy, where he took an interest in history, primarily the Early Cycles of Cybertron and The Original Thirteen Primes. He studied there for 3 orns, aced nearly every test, essay, and exam, and graduated at the top of his class.

"His first cycle as an alumna, he acquired an internship at Delta Broadcast, the most prominent news report station in the region. While working there, he went on several field expeditions, where he frequently traveled to Kaon to visited the Hall of Records. Of course, no one could go into the actual vestibule without the proper access codes, and obviously at that time he didn't. Security cameras outside the Hall exposed dozens of different recordings of Orion Pax roaming around the building over the span of 3 stellar-cycles. At the end of the third full-cycle, he was promoted to head of the research department of DB, which, coincidentally, granted him full access to the 'Modern Historical Archives' section of the Hall of Records. He was enthusiastic about it, to say the least.

**_[Cue Music_ #2]**

"Over the course of about 4 orns, he was officially welcomed into _Delta Broadcast_'s crew as a full-fledged member, complete with pay and positions. He got access to the Hall, as you now already know, and had written over 230 newsprint articles for their news bulletin during his post as head journalist, all of which are copied word-by-word in that binder." She pointed to the oversized file. "After nearly a vorn of work, he decided to quit when he was given the chance to create his own news firm with his own credits and servos. When he resigned, however, he was stripped of his clearance to the Hall of Records, which meant that he was unable to fathom anymore research for his work. Fortunately, one of the head members of the Hall of Records was well aware of the former journalist's sudden halt in his constant visits there. So he came to Iacon in search of Orion, found him, and personally gave him full access to anywhere in the Hall, fully trusting the files at the hands of the previously unfamiliar mech."

"Might I ask who this Hall member was?" Ultra Magnus interjected. "Just for reference."

Arcee turned her head to her client, full attention. "He was known as Alpha Trion."

"You mean-"

"Yes…_**the**_ Alpha Trion: the last remaining figure of the original Thirteen Primes. If he can trust the journalist to any confidential material, then everyone else should as well." She turned her head back straight forward, facing the window displaying the corridor she came from. "In fact, the two mechs are still friends and associates as of today. Trion was also the central inspiration for Orion's company's name: Alphascript.

"Of course, during his time at Delta, he eventually spark-bonded with a femme who was actually educated at the Academy like Orion, though they never met during that time. She is known as Andromeda, and her documents are in the folder as well. She currently works and resides here in Iacon, along with her and Orion's first and only creation, Smokescreen. He is not far out of mechling-hood and is currently in training for his sessions at the Protection division of Praxus Security." Arcee's look was directed at Prowl during the last sentence, obviously wondering whether he knew the young mech or not. He hadn't, given the expression on his face.

"What can you tell me about his work at Alphascript?" Magnus asked.

"Alphascript was formed approximately one vorn ago by five Cybertronians. One was Orion Pax himself. He put himself in charge of handling the company's resource material, since he had access to the best-known evidence. He is the second oldest of the five. The second was Alpha Trion. He helped to finance the company and served as a mentor- and sometimes sire- to Orion. He is the oldest of the five, evidently, and is the only one of the five who does not currently work their now, as he still works for the Hall of Records. The third was a mech who goes by the name Blaster. He serves as head of the company's broadcasting systems, he himself being the lead news reporter. He has a rather outgoing, exciting and need I say _exasperating_ nature, making him the highlight of the network's daily broadcast. The fourth is a rather eccentric mech named Sunstreaker, who runs charge of the treasury aspects of the company. A couple orns ago, he admitted himself to being openly, as common idioms put it, 'out of the 'closet', and not long after that, he had spark-bonded with another mech who works as a freelance model. He is the youngest of the five.

"The fifth and final is the one who technically holds the entire project together, besides Orion. Her name is Elita, and she works as CEO of Alphascript. She had proved herself more than enough times to be the most efficient and vital part of the company. She has also known the head journalist the longest. She had actually previously worked at Alphascript around the same time Orion came in, and the two had become inseparable since. She even quit her job to work for the mech when he wanted to form the company, giving him her full support."

"You say that this contains every aspect of the mech's lifecycle. What about his secrets?" Magnus asked.

"He is an open and honest mech. He barely holds secrets."

"But he does have some?"

The femme nodded.

"Do tell one."

The femme went on. "There was a slight catastrophe of events between Orion and Elita that unfolded during the company's foundation: they both had an on-and-off relationship that lasted during a part of their stay at Delta. Eventually, they both settled down into committed relations and agreed to continue working on friendly terms. However, a few stellar cycles ago, during a New Cycle Party, after a great consumption of high-grade, they both confessed that they still liked each other, and thus, had a one-night stand. Afterwards, when they were suddenly aware of the previous lunar cycle, they agreed to forget the whole thing. Unfortunately, they couldn't keep away from each other and hid their affair from both their sparkmates. This didn't end well, as it resulted in both the spouses finally discovering the façade and confronted them. Elita's mate took it rather well and they are still on good terms, even though Orion and Elita still continue to see each other. Orion's mate, on the other servo, wasn't happy. Not long after she found out about her mate's disloyalty, she called their love off and they both broke the bond. It wrecked Orion's bond, but not Elita's. And to this day, they still see each other for the occasional interface session. Even with Elita's mate constantly in the way."

Magnus read further on and, after another page or two, set it back down, perfectly aligning it symmetrically with the table. He melded his digits together, his elbows on the black, metal surface, and spoke up.

"Very well done. Quite organized." The blue mech sounded rather happy with the last statement. "But I'm interested to know what's not in it."

"There's nothing not in it. I assure you that everything you need to know about Orion Pax is in those files." Arcee's voiced sounded more cold than usual, indicating that she was upset.

"I know that," her client pledged. "But I still like one more piece of data: your opinion."

Arcee turned her head away from Magnus, staring down at the floor, head still straight and up. She looked back up when she responded, "What exactly do you want to hear about?"

"Your thoughts on the journalist. Everybody usually has something to say about him", the client said. This was true, as for every opinion Orion Pax states about one Cybertronian, there are about four or five of them who opinionate right back at him.

The femme looked at him for a nano-klik. "He's a keen mech. His work is very thorough and well-researched….for the most part. His trial with Zeta somewhat disavows that account. The case was very…damaging, to say the least. Orion claimed that Zeta had been abusing his company's assets to fund highly illegal advanced weaponry. The industrialist contradicted the journalist's accusation and gave him the downfall of a lifetime.

"Orion Pax believed that, through the sources of his closest friend, Ratchet, who collected solid evidence from Sentinel, Zeta's most trusted ally. He appealed to the court, saying that he had extremely convincing proof that the industrialist did in fact forcibly take corporation credits in an attempt to buy the armaments before he was, quote on quote, 'put on the hit list' of the black market. However, when he went to provide the evidence, it had turned up missing. Orion flew into a frenzy, deducing that the receipts and bank notes were stolen by Zeta himself. Due to his temperament in the middle of court, they overruled the statement. Even Sentinel, the case's bot of interest, evenly declined that all accusations by Orion Pax were wrong. As you could imagine, the trial was a failure, putting the archivist to where he is now."

Ultra Magnus, listening to every word coming out of the femme's lipplates, was stunned by just how much information was being presented to him. She was like a walking databank. "I have to ask: Did you read the report on your way over here."

"I drove here, so I wasn't able to examine it. And even if I could, I wouldn't because I already had."

"And how many times _did_ you read the report?"

"None," she answered. "I already saw every piece of data extracted while I was decoding."

"And how many times did you view the data while decoding?"

A pause, then a cold answer. "…Once."

* * *

Prowl had always been partial to the phrase 'don't judge a document by its cover'; he found it in most cases to be fraudulent. He would occasionally into mechs and femmes from other divisions that correspond their characteristics and manners into sociological clichés based on what faction they work for. Protection officers would be very domineering and forceful; Auxiliary employees were very welcoming and always provided friendly offers such as low-grade or snacks when guests visited them; Recon workers, much like himself, became paranoid and often take more care to check their surroundings. No matter the refutation, the Praxian knew enough coworkers, contacts, and associates to substantiate the concept.

Arcee, however, contradicted the phrase to an extent. When she first worked as an intern for Praxus Security, Prowl's paranoia kicked in and made him very suspicious merely based on her appearance: a particularly shallow move on the Praxian's part. She never conversed with anyone, except to acknowledge an aspect severely related to work, such as fetching a cube of energon or help to sort out paperwork. If you had to ask Prowl, she was quite capable and well-experienced for a plebe. She did her job without using so much as a exhale of breath to communicate, but, nevertheless, she got the job done. And that was all that mattered.

For about two straight stellar cycles, that was how she worked every single work cycle she operated. However, during the third, Prowl noticed that the chary femme began to put off some of her shifts. Whenever it looked into, she always responded with the same excuse: she didn't feel like coming in today. And whenever she did attend the workplace, she instigated fear and alarm among the other coworkers, causing a few complaints to kick her off for 'inadequate vocation'. It seemed asinine, as that _was_ the femme's main characteristic. However, the staff stated that she could serve no purpose if she was ever considered for a full-time position, as she did nothing but breathing and standing.

**_[Cue Music #3]_**

After a while, the Praxian decided that maybe it was time to end things with her internship, much to his dismay. Early one solar cycle, he called Arcee into his office for important affairs. She was skeptic, but then agreed and entered with the mech. He sat her down in the chair, and started to converse about her intern work. He told her that the other employees, as he worded it, felt that Arcee could serve no bigger purpose to the company. As the femme began to catch on about her soon-to-be discharge, she held up a servo and interjected him.

"So you're going to let me go simply because I am doing nothing to contribute to the company? Forgive me if I'm supposedly wrong, but I came here on an internship in an attempt to work for a full-time job. I patiently waited around, attended every work cycle, and did all the work I was assigned to do. Of course, I've been in the same dead-end position for over two full-cycles now, without any deliberation. So now my persistence began to wear off quickly. That might account for the past few….3 deca-cycles now. I figured if I started not showing up, the company _might_ at least be concerned about it. So now I'm being laid off for doing so.

"And another thing: Why is that so? Why am I suffering the consequences of an internship if the company hadn't even given me _one_ single assignment besides fetching low-grade and paperwork. Surely, the company _must_ consider _every _intern for placement among the ranks, and eventually give out serious tasks that greatly factor each intern's chances for a career. Why should I be different from them? I do my work as given; I should be held to the same standards as everyone else. Have I perfectly made myself clear?"

Prowl sat their in complete shock about the femme's wholly sudden change of social convention. Not once in his cycle had he ever seen someone eradicate his sense of judgment about one living being. Only then did he realize that he didn't answer Arcee's query right away. After a couple nano-kliks of drifting off into blank thought, he looked at the intern and nodded, his face still frozen with trivial shock. After that, she went on.

"I also notice some unfair selections in the Reconnaissance Division. For instance, there is a records researcher here- I believe he goes by the name 'Misfire'- that you've assigned to writing a report on the mech known as Hoist. Misfire, if you asked me, is doing a terrible job of collecting and saving data on the reports. His paragraphs are clumsily put together, as well as contain info that frankly could be scrapped out of from Hoist's personal diaries. There isn't anything in that report that couldn't in any way benefit to the needs of our clients, no matter how much they ask of us."

Prowl straightened up in his seat when she mention Misfire's report. Not a single time during her speech did she ever break her tone. Simply but icy. He decided to interject into the banter. "How exactly…_did_ you find out about Misfire's confidentialities?"

"Good question. Misfire's documents were kept on his computer databanks before printing them out for relocating. While he went on an energon break, I snuck aboard his workstation and managed to hack into his desktop. He scraped underneath his desk what appear to be a couple letters and numbers that served as a small anagram for his password. It was sparkling's play. Anyways, I looked at his file and immediately scoffed at his mess of a report. So I quickly made a copy of the report to look over myself."

Prowl froze with a sense of anger crawling upon his face. "You did _**what**_!?"

"Relax, Prowl." He essentially shuddered a bit when she said his name. "The security systems are still functioning properly. It's not like I was going into the databanks to insert a virus in there. Although it seems as if there already should be. Frankly, the network's security is terrible. Anyone could hack into the company's systems from a criminal mastermind downloading data to a youngling scanning the computers for his/her very first time. I'm surprised that nobody at this point have managed to destroy the company; of course, nobody would even think to attempt to breach a multi-million credit organization. That's idiotic.

"But that doesn't mean that someone _isn't_ dumb enough to try it out. I think the systems could be much better. Your firewalls are not sufficiently contrived to prevent any harmful viruses from terminating any important programs or files: All of the security's focuses are on the other aspects such as protecting codes for other networks linked to Praxus Security's grid. Don't get me wrong about that. It's a fairly suitable focus; it's only the matter of protecting your own systems from breaking in and finding out the codes themselves. Oxymoronic, in my opinion."

_**[Cue Music**_** #4]**

The Praxian felt flabbergasted by not only the femme's still monotonous voice, but just how much intelligence that her mind holds. From the sounds of it, she knew more about security breaching and protection more than the Surveillance division's most clever executives combined. He interjected once more in a short-tempered but still calm manner.

"And might I ask how you know so much about security systems?"

"Another good question. Before I started intern work here, I was taught as a femling a bit about computer work from….a friend of mine." Her answer seemed rather hesitant, but Prowl believed her. "He taught me the finer points of software, both fortes and flaws, and gave me some helpful insight on security. I studied further on technology, mechanisms and computer machinery along with his help. And no, I won't tell you the accomplice's name. But you don't need to worry: he is perfectly safe. If he wanted to terminate the firm's systems, he would have already done so."

Prowl believed every word she said, even in her still monotone voice. But now something else crossed the Praxian's mind: Misfire. If all of what Arcee said was true, the researcher could prove hazardous to the division. This was a matter of risks that he would need to take.

"So about Misfire...He-", was all that the mech could say before the femme interrupted him.

"-is a terrible researcher. Aside from his sloppy organizing, his material sources are not checked thoroughly enough to be trustworthy of even the most simple-minded of cases. If he were to send in that report right now, he would jeopardize the Reconnaissance faction, and, possibly, the entire company."

"Are you suggesting that you could do better?" Prowl inquired.

"_Anyone_ can do better than that idiotic yuppie. But if you offer me a position here, I might be willing to help. I can give you the most thorough, very trustworthy, and best organized report about Hoist that anyone in this company could possibly do. Just give me a due date and it's a deal."

Prowl thought about it hard. If she's as good as he thinks, she could probably be as fast doing work as she is talking about it. However, maybe he should add some tension in there to match her words. Just to be safe. "You do realize if I give you a date and you fail to finish in time, or if your report isn't good enough, I will terminate your internship here. Got that?"

She paused and stared straight at him. Her optics grew colder than usual. She spoke up finally. "Fair enough. It's a promise."

He looked straight into her optics and declared an offer: "Seven cycles."

The femme thought hard and long. "Give me five cycles. I guarantee that I can do it in three." It was the last thing she said before she took her knapsack over her shoulder, stood up, and calmly walked out of Prowl's office.

* * *

Much to Prowl's great surprise, she had it done in _**two**_ cycles. She showed up late dusk at the Praxian's office with two binders in servos: one from Misfire and the other from Arcee. She walked in, threw the binder on the table, and muttered something before leaving. Prowl took the file from the mech and opened it up. Exactly like the femme said, it was utterly flawed: cluttered bits of information, no proper transitioning, not enough material, and what material was in the file was simply thrown together. The Praxian shook his head in both shame and dismay, and threw the report back on the table in a frustrated manner. He sighed, rubbing his temples for a klik, before looking at the other report. After a brief, slow moment, he reached over with his arm, grabbed the binder, and opened it.

'Remarkable' was Prowl's first thought.

Just looking at the binder without opening it itself was the first hint that this would be the better report. The file was nearly 10 times the size of Misfire's! While the mech's file had about 27 pages, the femme added an extra zero to the end of the number. The report was made even better when he actually began taking a look at some of these statistics. Each piece of information was perfectly constructed into discrete sections throughout the report, from basic info [creation day, residence, etc.] to previous occupations, and even his current banking account numbers. Where the frag did she get all of this evidence?

Nevertheless, it was not only more than sufficient for a background check, but also pretty damn thorough in checking out for criminals. There wasn't any proof that proved that this mech was a felon, but it might as well have. She might even be considered for Surveillance. Of course it would mean she'd have to transfer all the way to Vos, but she might take the offer. Still, Prowl would like to keep an eye on Arcee. He was probably the only one, after, to stay in the same room with her and have an actual conversation with her for at a least two kliks.

Prowl finished the report in under a joor and, after only the first few pages, made his decision about Arcee.

Now…there was just the small, simple matter of firing the' yuppie'.

* * *

******EDIT: 7/16/13] This story is currently on hiatus. If you want the story to continue, go to the poll on my profile and vote for me to conitnue on. That way, once I have enough votes, I will have gotten further on my works. Do not fret: I don't plan on discontinuing the story altogether. Just at least long enough to where I have more done on my works. Any votes will help to speed up the process. Thank you for your cooperation!**

**-Ultra Magnus, Prowl, and Misfire are from the IDW universe (_MTMTE_ and _RID_).  
-Arcee is from the TFP universe, though her main color scheme is now purple with crimson highlights instead of blue with pink highlights.  
-Blaster, Elita, and Sunstreaker [as well as Sideswipe] are from the G1 universe.  
-Hoist is also G1, though he does not make an appearance in the fic.  
-Andromeda is an OC of my doing, the name originating from the constellation of the same name (much like 'Orion' in Orion Pax's name). [Any other OCs with the same name are purely coincidental!]**


End file.
